that, unbelievably, he had wanted her when she’d been dressed like Cally, not just tonight when she felt like she was playing dress-up to fit in with the art world. The world which, contrary to her initial impression, he wasn’t a part of either. He who had only been there tonight because of her. How was that possible? Wasn’t it obvious that she lacked that sexual gene, or whatever that thing was that most other women had? She didn’t know, but suddenly all the reasons she’d amassed for loathing him toppled over, taking her defences with them.
‘I ought to walk out of here right now.’
‘So walk.’
‘I…I haven’t finished my drink.’
‘And do you always do exactly what you say you are going to do, Cally?’
She was sure he turned up his accent when he said her name on purpose, sure he knew it made her stomach flip. Even surer that she didn’t have the strength to walk away.
‘I hate people who go back on their word.’
‘As do I.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘However, there were some parts of this agreement we didn’t specify—like whether this drink included a dance, for instance?’
Cally drew in a sharp breath as she looked to the grinding mass of bodies on the dance floor, now slowing to a more languorous pace as the soloist with the heavy eyeliner and the husky voice began a rendition of Black Velvet.
‘You’re not serious?’
‘Why not? Isn’t seizing the moment one of life’s beauties that art celebrates?’
Art, Cally thought. It was a celebration of life. But when was the last time she’d actually stopped to remember that and allowed herself to live it? She drank him in—his dark blond hair falling over his forehead, his eyes smouldering with a fire that both terrified and excited her—and for a split second she didn’t feel as though she’d lost anything at all tonight.
She offered him her hand and answered him in a voice she didn’t recognise as her own. ‘You’re on.’
As she stood up the alcohol went to her head, and for a second she closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The air felt thick, the heady beat of music vibrating through every cell in her body. She’d loved this song as a teenager. David had hated it. Why had she never played it since?
‘Come on.’ Leon snaked his hand around her waist and pulled her to him before he had time to consider whether or not this was such a good idea. He wanted her with a hungriness that unnerved him. He watched her mouthing the words of the song and, unable to drag his eyes away from her full lips, wondered if for once in his life he was going to be incapable of sticking to his own rules.
Always wanting more, he’d leave you longing for…
The lyrics seemed to reach into her soul. He seemed to reach into her soul. She had never met anyone like him. She had only known him five minutes and yet—clichéd thought it sounded—it almost felt like he knew her better than she had known herself, about everything she’d been missing out on. Being pressed up against him was intoxicating, the smell of him, the touch of him. She ran her hands up his muscular back, locked them behind his neck and allowed the tension to leave her body as he moved easily, her body following every movement his made.
‘Did I tell you how sexy you are?’ he whispered in her ear, the warmth of his breath sending an inordinate level of heat flooding through her.
He did this all the time; she was sure he did. Which was why it was crazy. She’d never done anything like this in her life, and she didn’t know what she was playing at now. But, though in her head she knew she was probably a fool to continue, right now her body was the only thing she could hear—and it was thrumming with a whole host of new sensations, all clamouring to be explored.
‘Did I tell you how sexy you are?’ she whispered nervously, grateful that she couldn’t see his face, hoping he couldn’t sense that she was trembling all over.
‘No,’ he whispered, drawing back to brush his lips just below her ear. ‘You most definitely didn’t mention that.’
She couldn’t bear it. His mouth was playing havoc with the sensitive skin of her neck. She needed to kiss him. Properly. Shakily, she guided his head with her hand until their faces were level, not knowing where her confidence had come from. Had he known if he touched her like that she wouldn’t be able to resist him? Probably. But right now she didn’t care. She just wanted to kiss him.
His lips brushed hers, painfully slowly, then opened hungrily. He tasted decadent, like dark chocolate and cinnamon. He ran his hand gently down her spine, slowing over the curve of her bottom. It was the kind of kiss that would have been utterly inappropriate in an exclusive little wine bar. To Cally’s shock it had a lot more in common with the display of primal need they had witnessed in the street outside, but to her astonishment she wanted more. She told herself it was down to the charge of the music, the distinctive scent of his hypnotic, balmy cologne. But she could blame it on exterior forces all she liked; the truth was that it was kissing him that was explosive. Suddenly she forgot everything else—the fact that he was a man she had only just met, the fact that she was bound to disappoint him, that this could only lead to heartache—because her need for him was overwhelming, and he seemed to feel it too.
‘You want to get out of here?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I do.’
So, Leon thought, fighting his own desire, there was the concrete proof that her word could not be trusted. That was the rule.
Cally’s cheeks were hot and her heart was pounding as he threaded her through the other couples on the dance floor and out onto the pavement, hailing a cab.
He opened the door for her as it rolled up. Then he coolly shut the door behind her and remained standing on the pavement.
She wound down the window, her brows knitted together in bewilderment. ‘I thought we were getting out of here?’
His face was grim. ‘No, you are. One drink was all you wanted, wasn’t it, Cally?’
Cally felt a new fire burning in her cheeks as Leon sigalled for the driver to go and she suddenly realised what was happening.
‘Bastard!’ she shouted.
But the driver had already pulled away, and all she could hear was the climax of the song as it poured down the street.
In a flash he was gone. It happened so soon, what could you do?
Chapter Three
AS CALLY rested her head on the window of the train from King’s Cross back to Cambridge, the sky-rise landscape shrinking to a patchwork of green, she gave up sifting her memories for debris and concluded that, no, she had never felt more ashamed than she did right now.
She, Cally Greenway, had almost had a one-night stand with a total stranger.
And, what was worse, a tiny part of her almost wished she had.
No, she argued inwardly, of course she didn’t. She just wished he hadn’t subjected her to that hideous rejection, or at the very least that she’d been able to understand
